


A Half-Step to the Left

by elumish



Series: A Just City [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 20:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16312133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elumish/pseuds/elumish
Summary: When the patronus cuts through the dementors, Harry's first thought is that he must have gotten his hands on another Time Turner.





	A Half-Step to the Left

When the patronus cuts through the dementors, Harry's first thought is that he must have gotten his hands on another Time Turner. But no, he realizes after managing to get his glasses jammed properly back on his face, it's not quite his stag. The antlers are missing, and it's smaller, leaner.

A doe.

The dementors scatter like pigeons, the doe chasing them until they disappear out of sight. Harry wants to see what happens to the doe, but Dudley isn't getting up in his own, and it's taking all of Harry's attention to try to pry him off the concrete.

"C'mon," he mutters. "They're gone, get  _ up _ ."

"There were--" Dudley whimpers. "It--"

"I know." Harry feels an unexpected rush of sympathy for his cousin, who couldn't see the dementors but could obviously feel them. "Chocolate will help, I promise, but you need to get up."

"Are you planning on just standing there?" A voice sneers, and Harry's first thought is that he's hallucinating, because that sounds like Snape.

But then Snape steps into view, wand out, looking very...Snapely, and Harry blurts out, " _ You _ ?"

"Where did you think the patronus came from?" Snape asks, striding towards them. "Now unless you're planning on standing here until they return--in which case, I will simply leave you to your idiocy in peace--we should return you to your domicile."

"To my--look, I'm trying, but Dudley is still pretty freaked out by the dementors, and I can't get him to move."

Snape stops in front of them, sneering down at both of them. "A muggle friend, is he?"

"What? No, he's my cousin."

"Petunia's son, then." Before Harry can process that little tidbit, Snape snaps, "Up, boy," and to Harry's astonishment Dudley actually shakily levers himself to his feet. His legs almost give out immediately, so Harry inserts himself under one massive shoulder to keep him vaguely upright. He's cold despite the oppressive heat.

"Well?" Snape says, then starts off immediately.

It's a struggle to get Dudley back to Privet Drive, especially as fast as Snape is walking, but they manage it eventually, Dudley leaning heavily on Harry by the time they get there. Something must catch Snape's attention, because he stops them before they reach the door, demanding, "What is that?"

Harry looks around, but he can't see anything of particular note. "What?"

Snape's hand reaches out, and Harry jerks away from him so hard he and Dudley both nearly fall over. But Snape just keeps reaching towards Harry until he touches the base of Harry’s neck. The collar of Harry's shirt, too-big and stretched wider by Dudley's weight, is pulled nearly off of Harry's shoulder.

Harry doesn’t know what he’s referring to at first, but then he remembers the bruises that must be forming from Uncle Vernon from earlier. He tugs his shirt collar up as best he can, saying, “Uncle Vernon didn’t like that I got smart with him.”

Snape’s hand jerks away from him, clenching into a fist. “Your  _ uncle _ did that to you? And what did your aunt have to say about that?”

Harry doesn’t know what the right answer is to that, but Snape looks like it wasn’t a rhetorical question, so Harry mumbles, “Nothing, I guess.” Snape’s face flashes with rage, and Harry quickly adds, “Sir.”

It looks like every muscle in Snape’s face clenches, and then he says, “Open your door, Potter. I can’t open it myself.”

“Sir?”

“I have a Dark Mark, Potter, and the wards should protect against that. I can only enter if you open the door for me.” He gestures towards the door, a sweeping gesture that somehow manages to look sarcastic.

Harry shuffles himself and Dudley towards the door, getting open the door with one shaky hand. He’s cold too, he realizes, something he hadn’t quite processed before. It must be the dementors, he realizes. They must still be affecting him more than he thought.

“Dudley, is that--” It takes Aunt Petunia a second to actually notice them, which is as much time as it takes for Snape to push past Harry and stride into the house. Aunt Petunia’s eyes widen from where she’s standing in the kitchen, a foot from the fan. “ _ You _ .”

“Me,” Snape agrees. “Hello, Tuney.”

“I told that man, I  _ told _ him there would be none of you freaks in my house again. I would house the boy, feed him, I have resigned myself to his presence, but the rest of you are to  _ stay out of my house _ .”

“Believe me,” Snape drawls, “I have no interest in spending any more time than necessary in this home of yours. You have not changed, Tuney, not even remotely. Your son needs chocolate, and so does your nephew, and then I will be removing him and myself from your presence so I’m not tempted to murder that miserable husband of yours.”

Aunt Petunia’s eyes focus on Dudley, who’s still shaking in Harry’s grip, and she demands, “What did he do to my Dudders?”

“That is a horrific name, and Potter did nothing to your son. Dementors have left Azkaban, and they nearly pulled the souls out of both of the boys under your care. I would expect equal concern for Potter as for your son if not for the bruises around his throat. Chocolate, Tuney, or I will find it myself.”

Aunt Petunia hesitates, but the threat of Snape poking through her kitchen is apparently enough to get her moving, because she heads over to one of the cupboards to begin rummaging through it. Snape turns his attention back to Harry to say, “Put the boy down somewhere. How long will it take you to pack?”

“Sir?”

“I’m not leaving you with these people.”

Harry is entirely confused now, even as he maneuvers Dudley over to a chair and drops him into it. Dudley looks like he’s thirty seconds away from vomiting, and Harry wants to be out of range if that happens. When Snape doesn’t offer anything else, Harry asks again, “Sir?”

In a few strides, Snape is in front of him, tipping Harry’s chin up with his hand. He doesn’t fight it out of surprise more than anything else, not even when Snape pulls his collar down. Snape stretches his hand across Harry’s throat, touching so lightly Harry can’t feel him pressing on the bruises.

They stand there for a second, Harry too shocked to move, and then Petunia bustles over to hand Dudley some chocolate and fuss over him. Only then does Snape pull away to snatch the chocolate from Petunia and break some of it off for Harry.

“Eat your chocolate, Potter, then pack. You have five minutes.”

Harry hesitates for another second, but it seems like Snape is serious, so he stuffs the chocolate in his mouth and then hurries upstairs to his room. His stuff is strewn about a bit, but given the motivation it doesn’t take much for him to get everything stuffed in his trunk. With Hedwig’s cage under one arm, he drags his trunk down the stairs; it’s too heavy to do it gently, so it thumps its way, bashing into the back of his legs with every step.

Snape is waiting just past the bottom of the stairs, Aunt Petunia staring at him from where she’s hovering over Dudley like she thinks Snape’s going to snap and murder them all if she takes her eyes off him.

“Is that all?” Snape asks, waving his wand and levitating the trunk away from Harry. “There is a chance you will not be returning here.”

If Snape can keep Harry from having to come back to the Dursleys he’ll give him a bloody hug. “Yes, sir. This is all of my stuff.”

Snape eyes his trunk, then mutters something that sounds like, “Then you will certainly not be returning here.” With another twitch of his wand, the door opens. Aunt Petunia gives a little squeak. “I would say it was lovely to see you again, Tuney, but you’re as unpleasant as ever.”

“Get out of my house,” Aunt Petunia snaps.

“With pleasure,” Snape says, then strides out the door. Harry hurries after him with a glance back at Aunt Petunia and Dudley, both of him look sheet-white. He has no idea where Uncle Vernon is, but he’s glad it’s not here.

It looks a little bit like Snape might kill him if he was.

Harry isn’t sure what he’s expecting Snape to do, but it isn’t summon a patronus--the same doe as earlier--and say, “To Albus, I’ve removed Potter from the Dursleys.”

The doe stands there for a second, then trots away and disappears. Snape looks at Harry. “Take your wand out but do not use it unless there is imminent threat to  _ your _ life.”

Harry fumbles his wand out of his pocket, gripping it in his hand low near his leg. He doesn’t really want to hold it out in the open in the middle of muggle Surrey, no matter that Snape is dressed in full wizarding gear. They already think he’s enough of a delinquent freak without him waving a stick around.

It’s barely a minute before a patronus that looks like a silvery Fawkes appears next to Snape’s head to say, “You have permission to show him the paper.”

Snape pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket, touching it with the tip of his wand. Then he holds it out for Harry to take. On it reads, in Dumbledore’s scrawling handwriting,  _ The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix can be found at 12 Grimmauld Place. _

“What’s--”

“Not here.” Snape holds out an arm. “Do you have any other injuries?”

Harry shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“Have you ever apparated before?”

“I don’t--”

“This will be highly unpleasant.” He gestures with his arm. “Hold on and do not let go. If you let go, you will likely die.”

Harry really doesn’t want to touch Snape, but he’d also really rather not die, so he resettles Hedwig’s cage under his arm, grabs on to Snape’s wrist, and asks, “Will Hedwig be okay?”

“Keep a tight grip and your bird will be fine.” He shrinks Harry’s trunk and sticks it in a pocket, then says, “Keep hold in three, two, one.”

The world twists around him like he’s being squeezed in a tube that is being wrung out like a towel, and he keeps all his attention on the hand holding Hedwig’s cage and the one on Snape’s arm, when everything feels as though it’s trying to tear him away from them.

They land on asphalt, Harry crashing down on his knees hard enough he thinks he can feel gravel embedding itself in his skin. It’s hot as hell.

He’s still holding on to Snape’s wrist--and Hedwig’s cage, though she’s squawking indignantly--and Snape twists the grip to lever Harry up to his feet. “We must get inside,” Snape says. “You can vomit once you’re in there. It will likely improve the decor.”

Still gripping Harry’s wrist, he hauls Harry towards one of the doors in a row of identical-looking flats. Harry expects him to knock, but he just opens it and strides inside.

The building has to be the most miserable place Harry has ever seen, other than maybe his cupboard, dark and grimy and with no apparent ventilation from how miserably stale the air feels. Snape guides him around a hat stand and down a hallway.

They stop near stairs and a couple of doorways, and Snape raps once on one of the doors.

After a second, it opens, and Lupin sticks his head out. “Severus, what are you--” His eyes settle on Harry, and then they widen, and he yanks the door open entirely to stare at him. “Harry. What are you doing here?”

“There were dementors in Little Whinging,” Snape says. “Albus knows.”

“Dementors?” Lupin blinks at them, then shakes his head, stepping back to give them space. “Come in, come in.” He turns to call, “Sirius?”

“Fuck off,” Sirius shouts back, “I’m cooking before Molly can take over my kitchen.”

“Harry’s here.”

There’s a clatter like Sirius drops something, and Harry heads into the room just in time for Sirius to bolt over and wrap him in the best hug Harry has ever gotten in his life. Harry lets himself sink in to it, even though Snape is there and it’s embarrassing to want a hug that much when he’s already almost fifteen.

“Harry,” Sirius whispers in his ear. “Harry, Harry, you’re here, you’re  _ here _ .”

“Sirius.”

Sirius’s hand curls in Harry’s hair, and then he pulls away to press a kiss to Harry’s forehead. He looks better than he has, mostly, but pale, like he hasn’t been out in the sun in a while. Only after he’s apparently looked his fill at Harry does he look over Harry’s shoulder at Snape, who he asks, “What are you doing here?”

“I am removing your godson from his relatives.”

“You  _ stole _ him?”

“Look under his collar.” The door opens behind them, and Snape whirls around with a swish of his cloak to stomp over towards whoever is coming in. It must be Dumbledore, because Harry hears him say something quietly and then Snape respond.

“Well,” Sirius says cheerfully, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulder and tugging him into the kitchen, “Let’s let them shout this, and with any luck, my mother will scream Snivellus deaf.”

“Your mother?” Harry asks, letting himself be pulled. Lupin goes along with them, looking vaguely please.

“Her portrait,” Sirius clarifies. “They must not have told you--this is where I grew up. Dear old mum got her portrait painted before she died, and I don’t know if she was that batty by then or something went wrong with the magic, but she’s a godawful shrew at this point.”

“Not that she was the picture of delight when she was alive,” Lupin adds, heading over to the stove.

Harry drops down in the chair Sirius leads him to, putting Hedwig’s cage down on the table. She makes an angry noise at him, and he mumbles, “Sorry, girl, I know.” He looks over at Lupin. “You met Sirius’s mum?”

“Once. At King’s Cross after our first year.” He turns the stove on. “I think it was the magic, unless you told her I was a werewolf. She’s been calling me half-breed since I got here.”

“I’d forgotten about that,” Sirius says, propping himself up on the table next to Harry. “Bloody awful summer that was.” He reaches out to ruffle Harry’s hair. “So, how are things with you? What was Snivellus talking about about your collar?”

Harry’s hand goes to his collar before he can think about it, covering the base of his neck, and Sirius’s eyes darken. But it’s with gentle fingers that he reaches out to tug Harry’s hand away from his throat and then pull the collar of his shirt down.

Harry sees the second he realizes what the bruises are, because every muscle in his face tightens, and he snarls, “Son of a  _ bitch _ .”

Harry yanks his shirt collar back up, but it’s too late. Not that he tried that hard to stop Sirius from finding out, or Snape, and it’s really not that huge of a deal. He’s fine. It just looks bad, or it will until the bruises heal. “I’m fine,” he says, probably belatedly. “It’s just this, and it doesn’t really hurt.”

“Who did this?” Sirius demands.

As if in answer, Snape’s voice carries through the door as he shouts, “--his uncle’s  _ hand _ around his  _ throat _ , Albus. Fuck the blood wards if his relatives kill him first. And we don’t even know if they’re still effective, with Potter’s blood running through the Dark Lord’s veins.”

“There is nobody to take him--”

“I will fucking adopt the child myself before I let him go back to those people.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” Albus says.

Snape’s response is lost through the door and under the pounding of Harry’s heart, because what the  _ fuck _ ? Snape hates him. That must have been a joke.

“May I see?” Lupin asks, stepping over to them.

“I’m fine.”

“May I see anyway?” With a careful twitch of his wand, Lupin moves Harry’s collar out of the way to reveal the bruises again. His expression is totally placid, and that’s better than the anger on Sirius’s. Maybe he, at least, realizes this isn’t a big enough deal to freak out about. “How did this happen?”

Harry shrugs uncomfortably. “Can’t you tell?”

“I’d rather you tell me.”

“He, uh. I was being smart.”

Lupin traces the edge of one of the bruises with his wand. “What did he do?”

Harry swallows. “He picked me up, sort of. By the neck.”

“I see,” Lupin says.

Sirius lets out a low growl. “Remus--”

Lupin smiles, though it mostly looks like him baring his teeth. “I think I’ll go join Severus. You’ve always been better at healing spells than me, anyway.” With that, he heads out of the room, the door closing with barely a whisper behind him.

Harry is honestly not sure what just happened, so he says, “Well, he doesn’t seem as angry.”

Sirius barks out a laugh, heading over to a cabinet. “That, prongslet, was Remus furious.” He starts rummaging through the cabinet, humming under his breath. “How do we not have any bruise paste? Is Molly fucking eating the stuff?”

“Molly?” Harry blinks at him. “Is Mrs. Weasley here?”

“Did nobody tell you?” Sirius turns back to look at him. “The Weasleys are here. They’re all over, usually, but Molly’s not too big of a fan of mine, and so they’re cleaning upstairs somewhere. Some of the rooms have permanent silencing charms on them, so they’re probably in one of them. Your friend Hermione, too.”

Harry feels a surge of anger at the fact that the Weasleys and Hermione are here and nobody told him, but he swallows it down to ask, “Why did rooms in your house need permanent silencing charms on them?”

“So nobody had to listen to the screaming, mostly.” Sirius gives him a teeth-baring smile. “This was not a pleasant place to grow up, prongslet.”

“Why are you here, then?”

“Because it’s unplottable and under Fidelias, and I was the only person alive who could access it. It makes for a secure safehouse, if nothing else.” Apparently giving up on the cabinet, Sirius heads back over to him. “Can you take off your shirt?”

Harry hesitates, but everyone in existence has already seen the bruises now, so he strips off his shirt, holding it on his lap.

“Merlin,” Sirius mutters, staring at him, “you’re as fucking skinny as I was. If I were free--”

“Why haven’t we figured out how to get you free?” Harry asks, mostly to distract Sirius from the way he’s staring at Harry’s ribs.

Sirius frowns at him between touching his wand to Harry’s throat and muttering something. “What are you talking about?”

“Even without Wormtail, there must be some way to prove that you’re innocent, right? I mean, veritaserum, a pensieve memory? Why can’t there be a real trial?”

Sirius gives him a wry smile. “I could never even get close. They wouldn’t let me near the door without having me Kissed. Especially now, with me on your side.”

Harry bites his lip. “But, I mean, they don’t know that, do they? What about--I mean, they’re trying to say Voldemort isn’t back, right? And you’re supposed to be his right-hand man.”

“I’m hardly--”

“You’re  _ supposed _ to be, not that you are. But...but if you’re proven to be innocent, that would help their case, wouldn’t it? That you’re not really his right-hand man?”

“We need them to know that he’s back.”

“But if we want you to get him a trial, can’t we just--well not me, I mean, but someone, can’t they tell the Ministry that?”

Sirius seems to be thinking about it, but in the end he shakes his head, pulling his wand away. “You might be a little tender for a day or so, because I’m no mediwizard, but you should be fine. Bruise-wise, at least, unless you have any others.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, that’s it.”

“You can put your shirt back on, then.”

Harry does, just in time for the door to open and Lupin, Snape, and Dumbledore to walk in with a black man Harry doesn’t know.

Dumbledore beams at him, though his gaze settles somewhere past Harry’s left ear. “Ah, my boy. It’s good to see you, even if it’s under such inauspicious circumstances. Severus and Remus have been telling me about your experiences with your relatives.”

“Yes, sir.”

“They have argued--and I never thought I would see the two of them on the same side, it was so refreshing--that you should not be returned to your relatives, and I am wont to agree. That said, there is still the matter of custody to consider. As your godfather is ineligible, Severus has kindly offered himself--”

“Over my dead body,” Sirius snarls.

“--but it was decided that that would be a choice of last resort,” Dumbledore finishes as though there had been no interruption at all. “For the time being, Kingsley, you will tell the Ministry that you received reports of dementors in Surrey. We will use Severus’s memory if necessary, but if at all possible we would like to leave him and Mr. Potter out of this entirely. Ensure that there is an investigation in to their appearance.”

The black man inclines his head and says in a deep voice, “Yes, headmaster.” He turns and smiles at Harry. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry nods. “Yeah, you too.”

Kingsley slips out of the room surprisingly silently, and Dumbledore turns back towards Harry to say, “The matter of custody will have to be settled before you must leave Hogwarts for the summer, but for the moment you can stay here with your godfather. There will be rules that you must abide by for your own safety and the safety of all of us, living here, but those can be covered later. Right now, eat some chocolate and settle in, my boy. Everything will be worked out in its own time.”

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, there could be more but I have nothing planned at the moment. If there's something more you want to see of this universe, let me know.


End file.
